


You were the one

by 1toomany



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Everything in Ian's life reminds him of Mickey, I dunno how to tag this tbh, M/M, Other, after 5x12, ian's days after the break-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 20:06:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4405679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1toomany/pseuds/1toomany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian's days after the break-up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You were the one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magneticdice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magneticdice/gifts).



> Okay, so I wrote this as a birthday gif for my tumblr bff magneticdice. I'm sorry it's taken me so long. Anyway, I hope she likes it. I started it diferently but somehow ended up the way I did. I don't even know why, tbh. 
> 
> Happy birthday, Tanya! I love you!

Everything is wrong.

  
The wrong room, this shitty , dark, two square feet space with posters of surfers and ocean on every inch of the wall and a broken thing dangling from the ceiling that makes the Gallagher chandelier look like it won _America's prettiest_ contest. A sqeaky narrow bed with dirty linen with holes in it and pillows that smell like vomit and pizza and alcohol and who the fuck knows what .

  
The wrong hands, knuckles with no tattos , squeezing his shoulders with sharp fingernails and long blond sweaty hair and the wrong weight on top of him.

  
The wrong moans coming from the wrong person sliding down  his cock, telling him to _please go slow, slow, slower…_

  
It's wrong.

  
It's all wrong.

*

The food tastes like crap. Could be that his meds had taken over every taste bud on his tongue but everything he swallows lately is a styrofoam. Ian's always loved Fiona's cooking but even today's lasagna tastes bitter.

  
He watches Debbie get up from the table and put her dirty plate in the sink. She ruffles through the kitchen cupboard and comes back with a poptart for him.

  
His heart stops.  When the fuck did he start hating poptarts?

  
He knows when.

*

Fiona drills him every day. She pushes and pushes and pushes and Ian is sick of it.

  
Even before he stumbles down the stairs there's a plate with waffles and a mug with fresh camomile tea on the table where he usually sits. Next to it all stands a small cup with four pills in it. Mood stabilizer. Antipsychotic. Antidepressant. Vitamis.

  
'Eat your waffles first', she tells him, 'you can't take pills on an empty stomach'.

  
He stops , fingers hurting from gripping at his chair.

  
_Take all those pills on an empty stomach, you gonna have diarrhea real bad._

  
His breath stops.

  
_Fuck._

_*_

Days go by. Fiona goes to work, takes Liam to his friend's. 'It's not that I don't trust you with him Ian, I'm doing this so you can get some rest'.

 

Lip comes and goes. It's better when he's gone, all he does is study anyway. They don't talk much like they used to. It sucks.

  
Debbie goes to school, hangs out with her friends, goes out with Derek. _'Who is he again?'_  'Just a guy I've been seeing.'   _'Just the guy you've been seeing, huh?_ '

  
Fuck. Why does that sound so familiar?

  
He closes his eyes and wishes away the image of blue eyes and dark hair and a beautiful smile. It doesn't work. Of cours eit doesn't.

  
It never works.

*

Kev and V come to visit him every couple of days. They've been busy with twins, especially now when they are teething. Key is all excited when he talks about how he wraps his finger in warm cloth and rubs their gums gently. V just rolls her eyes at that. It's been hard on her but she's adjusting. Ian can tell.

  
They always ask him how he's doing. It's always the same answer.

  
'I'm okay.'

  
He's not okay.

*

Lip calls him on Friday. Tells him he'll pick him up tonight. 'You need to go out, get laid or something', he says, 'stop moving around the house like an old man'.

  
He doesn't need Lip to cheer him up. And he's perfectly fine with finding someone on his own. But whatever. No one listens to him anymore anyway, so why bother with explanations.

  
He goes to his room and opens the closet. Not much is in there, some shirts and couple of pants, most of it Lip's hand-me-downs. He finds a grey V-neck  he bought after leaving the army and a pair of pants he picked up from the floor of that house he ended up in one night. He isn't sure they're his though, there were a lot of guys there.

  
Lip texts, says he's gonna be here in couple of minutes. Something about the traffic jam, Ian doesn't really care.

  
It's twenty minute slater that he finally comes through the door.

  
'Sorry I'm late', he apologizes.

  
Ian feels like someone stabbed him in the chest.

  
_Sorry I'm late._

  
He ignores Lip yelling after him. 'Ian, what the fuck, what did I say? Ian!'

  
He peels of his clothes and burries his face deep into the pillow.

  
_Sory I'm late._

  
 He doesn't get out of bed the next three days.

Everything hurts.

*

Carl comes out of juvie. He's changed,Ian notices. His hair is longer and his posture is more intimidating, but the smile on his face is still the same. Young. Innocent. Loving.

  
'S up, crazy?, he asks as soon he spots Ian on the couch. Ian can't be mad, not at him. Not when he'd always known Carl was among those few straight up, straightforward people who always saw things for what they are and told it like it is. Ian is sick with all the pampering and people walking on eggshells around him. He needs someone like Carl in his life again, someone who can call him a psycho one moment and then hug and kiss him the next.

  
He had someone like that once.

  
Carl sits next to him and tells him about juvie.

  
Tells him about the shitty food and stuck-up guards and the gym he spent most of his time at. Tells him about his cellmate  Jerry, and how he has a baby sister who is the most precious thing in the world to him. Tells him about a book he'd read when there was too much snow and they were not allowed to go outside. Ian grinns and tells them that he had rehabilitated well. Carl tells him to fuck off, because he's still Carl.

  
He tells him about this guy he made friends with. Says he's  really a nice guy, with a tattoo of a dragon on his right bicep. A bicep that's pretty impressive, if he may add. Before Ian can ask him Carl shakes his head. 'Fuck you, that don't mean I'm gay, y'know?' Ian laughs and says _okay_. Carl laughs too.

  
He tells him how the name Milkovich is very known in juvie and how it helped him get free smokes and the ocassional can of beer when he said his big brother is tightly conected to one of them, and he mentions how he'd been to a cell Mickey was in and there is still a _FUCK THE WORLD_ and a drawing of a guy with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a middle finger in the air carved on the wall next to one of the beds there.

  
_Mickey._

  
Ian wants to touch that wall and run his fingers against the pillow on that bed.

*

He cries. A lot. He doesn't care if it makes him weak. Because he is weak.

  
He lays in bed at night, after Liam is sound asleep and Carl's snoring quietly and the whole house is quiet. Too quiet for Gallagher's standards. It's the same routine over and over. He takes his phone from the nightstand and with a shaky breath scrolls through the voice mail untill he founds it.

  
_I'm worried about you._

_I love you._

_Call me back._

  
His finger hovers over the screen. He closes his eyes and presses delete. _Are you sure you want to delete this message_?

  
He doesn't.

*

A year goes by. He's a robot. Wakes up, takes his meds, runs, showers, goes back to bed.

  
He runs a lot. Sometimes it's just 3 miles but other days when he feels hiper and full of energy he'll go as far as 8.

The streets are empty and the sun is still not up and he can breathe in fresh air. His feet lead him to 1955 South Trumbull Avenue. The familiar path he had taken so many times before.

  
There nothing. Doors are locked, grey curtains with holes in them behind the dirty windows, full of debris and dust. He goes around the house and stops in front of one..

  
_Kiss me and I'll cut your tongue out._

_What's that mumbles?_

_Jesus, leave me alone!_

_You awake?_

 

Tears roll down his face. He takes the phone out of his pocket and scrolls till he hits the letter _M_ in his address book. He writes a text and presses send.

 

_I want us to try again._


End file.
